


Dobos Torte (11 layers and counting)

by sweetiejelly



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-30
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 12:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetiejelly/pseuds/sweetiejelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt likes Blaine and cuddling. Blaine likes Kurt and cuddling. And cake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dobos Torte (11 layers and counting)

**Author's Note:**

> Written back in June 2011 for G; originally posted [at my LJ](http://sweetiejelly.livejournal.com/155143.html).

(1) There are his eyes, for starters. Kurt loves how warm they are whenever Blaine looks at him, stares at him really, tells him dirty stories with them, flirty stories, tells him how crazy in love he is without saying a word.

There are his eyes on him now, so brown, two pools of chocolate fondue. Kurt smiles and leans in, pressing a kiss to Blaine’s lips, lazy and familiar, the way a lover would touch a lover’s shoulders with the barest graze of fingers and it would be a complete sentence, a conversation, skin and soul.

(2) Then there are actual fingers. Because Blaine has those. Kurt is constantly surprised by this. They would be kissing – like now – and Blaine would press down on the back of his shoulders, like he’s holding onto a life preserver or a body pillow.

Or Blaine would touch his cheek, cupping him like fine china one minute and rubbing him like Aladdin’s lamp the next.

Or Blaine would trail his fingers at the edge of his shirt like a shy letter opener, just teasing.

Or since about a week ago, Blaine would card his fingers through Kurt’s hair, sometimes in a massage, aimless as they talked. Or sometimes, as a way to keep Kurt closer, move their kisses deeper. Kurt considered laying down rules about his hair but the way Blaine does it – ridiculous (Kurt’s heard his knuckles crack a couple of times) and sweet and sincere and _perfect_ – well, Kurt has a comb.

(3) Once their kisses get to this place – this sweet spot where they would sacrifice the comfort of necks and legs and inside seams of jeans – sounds are necessary, guttural nothings and everythings. Kurt loves the way Blaine sounds, like this, all his.

(4) And strange as it sounds, Kurt loves the end of kisses, when they pull back and stare at each other before diving back. These little pauses like a swimmer surfacing for air. They always agree – more. Or more _later_.

Blaine’s eyes are so brown, blown, a black hole trying to swallow Kurt whole. Kurt feels only slightly sorry as he presses one last quick peck. “I think that’s enough cooling down.”

“Who was cooling down?” Blaine tries, with his hands – yup, he still has those – to drag Kurt back to his lips, his tongue, his lap.

Kurt flushes and jumps to his feet. “My Dobos torte! It should be ready now. Don’t you think thirty minutes is enough for it to cool?” His voice only gives him away a little bit. He’s certainly not as cool as his cake. His cake and him – they’ve certainly traded temperatures.

(5) Blaine bats his eyelashes, long and thick, pretty things, against his cheeks and pouts. “An hour’s better.” He rubs at the wrist of Kurt, where his pulse ticks like jumping beans.

Kurt laughs but pulls away before he lets himself be charmed. (6) After all, Blaine has this way of making everything _wrong_ sound absolutely _necessary_.

“Come on, I really want you to try this.” Kurt says as he walks to the kitchen, soaking up the cool tiles with his socks. He wiggles his toes and hums quietly to himself. The torte looks perfect – creamy like summer and chocolate-y like shade. The smell of it – vanilla and butter and chocolate and almonds – reminds him of his mother in the circle of his father’s arms, of warmth, of home.

In a way, Kurt is proposing all over again. _Blaine Warbler, will you promise to always be truthful yet never insult my feelings?_ Only, Blaine doesn’t know it.

Blaine doesn’t know what he’s about to experience at all. (7) He hasn’t even moved, collapsed into the little corner of the couch as he is, like an abandoned stuff animal, a half-played with toy. “I missed you,” the human Furby pouts as Kurt approaches with a plate of cake.

Kurt opens his mouth and shakes his head. “You are ridiculous,” he says with fondness as he holds out a forkful to Blaine’s lips.

Blaine opens his mouth with wolfish appreciation. “Don’t just swallow,” Kurt coaches and is met with a sudden gleam in Blaine’s eyes. Blaine mouths around the fork, moaning over the icing and getting his lips dark as his eyes.

Kurt blushes cardinal red at the tip of his ears and feels heat travel like lasers from Blaine’s eyes all over his face and flush down his neck. “I just – I meant chew, okay? I really want to know what you think of my new recipe. And don’t lie because a Hummel always knows.”

(8) “Never,” Blaine crosses his heart. “And this is – oh my god, Kurt. I will Dobos your torte any day.”

Kurt snorts, happy mixed in with silent chants of _dork! Dork! Dork! My dork!_ “Have you been spending too much time with Sam?”

“Obviously,” Blaine steals the fork and holds out a piece to Kurt. “Since I’m not spending nearly enough time with you.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, half from Blaine’s words, half from the richness of the cake. “Holy chocolate treadmill, this is good!”

(9) Blaine laughs, open and guileless and beautiful. Kurt feels sweetness lingering at the edge of his lips as he dips down to kiss him, spontaneous and messy and open mouthed, rubbing chocolate to chocolate until he feels the sugar rush like an inevitable, bubbling up in an echoed laugh.

(10) Blaine looks at him, just looks at him with that face. That I’ll-be-the-chocolate-coating-to-your-sponge-cake, I’ll-be-sand-to-your-wind, I’ll-love-you-as-long-as-you’ll-have-me face. Kurt feels choked for air at times like this. Like it’s too much and he never imagined he’d get to have this and he actually _does_ and oh my god!

Blaine interrupts his inner meltdown and tugs him back to the sofa to resume cuddling. (11) Blaine tucks his face into the crook of Kurt’s neck and breathes, hot and moist and mostly calm, mostly even, pressing light kisses from time to time, tickling him lightly. Kurt smiles and leans his cheek against the top of Blaine’s head. Blaine was right, as dorky as he put it. Blaine could Dobos his torte any day too.

Kurt puts down the empty plate on the coffee table and tangles their fingers together. When he sighs, it’s a happy one, a thankful one. His new recipe totally rocks and his boyfriend too.


End file.
